One to Six, Buckle to Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns Book 11) Page 14

  Edge laughed, but it was true that Simon, who had been very admiring in the short time they’d had together before the talk, was now being very attentive to his diminutive aunt and making no attempt to steer her across to them. Which was, frankly, a relief because Sylvia as matchmaker would have been quite exhausting.

  ‘Well, never say I didn’t try. In that case, sweetie, what are your plans for the rest of the day?’

  ‘Sleeping.’ Kirsty said firmly. ‘I had my first Saturday night off in weeks last night, and I think I overdid it a bit. I intend to buy something indulgent and very fattening—from here, if I can—then go home and put my feet up in front of the telly, and snooze. Oh, don’t look at me like that! I’ve been on loan in Falkirk practically since Christmas and I’m pure knackered. It’s time you lined up some more nice murders for me in Onderness. All the travelling’s really getting me down.’

  Edge promised wryly to see what she could do and, as the group finally started to break up, they moved towards William to add their congratulations to the rest. He caught Edge up in a bear hug, lifted her effortlessly off her feet, and kissed her soundly, then turned to Kirsty who stepped smartly backwards out of range and laughed at him.

  He laughed back, and shrugged. ‘Och, you’re not as bonny as your aunt anyway. Is she now?’ He appealed to Vivian who smiled a bit thinly. Edge tutted at him and hurried Kirsty over to the bursar, who was in overall charge on Sundays.

  ‘Do you know my niece, Hamish? Oh, I forgot, of course you do, from our murder. Anyway, she’s come all this way looking for something delicious to take home, so how’s our stock?’

  ‘We’re getting famous, are we?’ He beamed at them both and wheeled out the trolley of home-baked items that were on sale.

  ‘Best scones I ever had came from here.’ Kirsty assured him and his face dropped slightly.

  ‘Those were Betsy’s scones, I’m thinking. Mind, we’ve a very good volunteer now, he makes wonderful crumpets. But we’ve never had anyone make scones like Betsy did.’

  Kirsty decided to try the crumpets as well as a tray of cupcakes, attempted to reimburse Edge when they were put on her aunt’s account—no cash changed hands at The Lawns—but was indignantly waved off.

  ‘Thanks very much for this. I’ll bring some good wine to make up for it on Tuesday. I’d forgotten the scones were Betsy’s lasting legacy.’ she remarked as they walked to her car in the visitors’ parking area and Edge grimaced.

  ‘I hope if I ever get murdered, I’m remembered for more than my baking. Do you know, that was the only nice thing people were ever able to say about her? Over and over again.’

  ‘Um—having tasted your baking, best of my aunts, I too hope you find some other way to be remembered!’

  A piercing shriek ripped through the grey morning and they both turned automatically to stare as Josie, stumbling and weaving with shock, burst through the shrubbery screening the first unit and ran towards them waving her arms. ‘Caw the polis! Caw the Bobbies!’

  ‘I’m here, I’m Sergeant Cameron, what’s the problem?’ Kirsty dumped her bags in Edge’s hands and jumped forward to catch at the older woman, who half-collapsed against her, clawing at her arms. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Hanged!’ Josie gave a strangled wail. ‘A body, there’s a body, there’s a lassie dead in the laundry—’

  Kirsty left Josie with a wildly curious Edge and hared off to investigate, returning quite quickly with her phone to her ear, talking hard. She grimaced at Edge as she ended the call, then looked up to Hamish, standing horror-struck above them on the stairs.

  ‘It isn’t one of your people,’ she called up to him, and he sagged with relief. ‘Looks quite a young lass. I’ve called it in, could you ask everyone not to use that bit of the walkway for now, until the SOCO team has been? And to keep away from the laundry and the garages. I’ll go stand there now. With most of the residents walking down to the Sunday room already this morning, I think any footprints are long covered, but if we can stop any further contamination, that’ll be a help.’

  ~~~

  The sullen chilly morning had turned to half-hearted drizzle by the time Edge and Donald, who were near neighbours, headed together down the covered walkway to collect Vivian en-route to the birthday tea. Her apartment was right next to the laundry, but the police had re-opened the walkway. As Kirsty had guessed, with a good half of the residents having already traipsed that way in the morning, there had been little point in keeping it cordoned off for what had turned out to be a suicide. The laundry itself was still sealed, but the body had been removed over two hours earlier.

  The last of the snow, packed and dirty where it had been swept out of the way, was finally starting to melt as the temperature crept up and Edge stared somberly out across the old stone boundary wall towards the white-hilled horizon while they waited for Vivian. A large snowman, built in an excess of high spirits on one of the rare sunny days, was slumping slowly to the ground.

  Donald, following Edge’s absent stare, said conversationally, ‘you can see why they had to stop calling it global warming, eh? There’s every Scot rubbing their hands and saying ’oh aye, bring it on, big yin’, and we get a winter like this. Global climate change.’ He snorted. ‘More Baltic than ever.’

  Edge grimaced in agreement. ‘I was catching up on my emails and Facebook and the colder we get in this hemisphere, the hotter it seems to get down south. Forty degrees in Sydney, my cousin said. And a friend of mine is melting in Durban. And me wrapping my fingers round my mug of soup so I could get enough feeling back in them to type. But—’

  Vivian emerged, locked the door and interrupted them, looking at Donald.

  ‘Did you see the ambulance on the campsite around an hour ago?’

  ‘Another one? Not the one that took the dead girl away?’

  ‘No, this one was only on the campsite. Drove backwards and forwards a bit, then shot off with its lights on, so it was for someone living. I was at William’s. I had to leave when the police arrived to talk to him and I saw it as I walked down.’ She tucked her scarf more securely into the top of her coat as they headed towards the house.

  Donald glanced in the direction of the campsite across the road. ‘There are still some black ice patches there, but most of the dog-walkers know to avoid them. They wouldn’t bring an ambulance for a sprained ankle, though, would they?’

  ‘Well, if you fell hard enough’ Edge pointed out ‘you could break a hip. And talking of falling, these stairs are —no, I’m okay. Nice catch, Donald! After you.’ Donald released the friendly grip on her arm where he had steadied her as her foot slipped, and gave her the tiniest of winks as Vivian, apparently completely oblivious, led the way to the main door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sunday—Jamie’s birthday tea

  ‘Heavens, what a turnout!’ Vivian remarked as they edged their way into the main hall and shrugged out of their coats to hang them with many others on the coat racks. The big room was full and the noise level rose to a cheer as Jamie came bashfully out of the pub with two of the other residents.

  ‘Edge!’ Megan, the popular front-of-house manager, called and waved to attract her attention. ‘Katryn asked if you could pop up and see her when you have a mo?’ She had the house phone cradled in one hand and waggled it to add emphasis.

  Edge nodded, slightly surprised, and glanced at the afternoon tea table, which was particularly laden, with a birthday cake taking pride of place, its single candle burning brightly. Birthdays were celebrated with a general tea and cake, and there were always four gifts. Any private presents were kept to be opened back in the apartment; these four were the Grasshopper gifts, paid for out of a birthday kitty, and opened at the tea.

  ‘Have your tea first,’ Megan reassured her, shielding the telephone in her hand as a ragged chorus of ‘Happy birthday to you’ gathered strength. Jamie, hamming it up a bit, blew out his candle and plunged the be-ribboned cake knife into the heart of the chocolate cake. Olga took
the knife from him and cut swift slices, the plates passing quickly from hand to hand to get everyone served as soon as possible. A murmur of approval followed the progress of the plates.

  ‘Oh aye, this looks better than the last birthday cake!’ Donald looked positively animated and Edge, mouth already full, nodded vigorously.

  ‘Yum!’ Vivian agreed ‘Whoops!’ She deftly caught a chunk as it broke free. ‘This is better than I could have baked. I wonder who made it?’

  ‘Major Horace.’ Sylvia, bright-eyed and alone for once, perched beside them on the sofa. ‘Don’t look at me like that. He did. Honestly. He’s been working for house credits lately. Who do you think has been making those wonderful croissants for breakfast? He’s moving into number one, too—that’ll be a neighbourly treat for Matilda, when she gets back from the Bahamas—to get the bigger kitchen. I’m thinking of giving him a French maid outfit as a house-warming gift, since he’s finally getting in touch with his feminine side.’

  Vivian’s bark of laughter turned heads even in the general hubbub, and Edge choked on her cake. The Major, with a near-genius for political incorrectness, had offended or at least annoyed every woman at the Lawns at least once; the image of him in a dainty frilled apron with his avid, slightly popping eyes and bristling moustache, was one to be treasured.

  ‘So where’s your new nephew this afternoon?’ Vivian carefully dabbed the tears of laughter from her eyes. Sylvia glowed. A tiny woman, always immaculately turned out, she had taken on a new bloom since his arrival. Her hair was still frosted perfection, her false eyelashes as thick as ever, and her lip-liner, which Donald swore must be tattooed into place, as precise, but the overall brittle effect had softened over the last few weeks.

  ‘He’s borrowed my car to go visit some friends who emigrated to Stirling. It’s got a good Satnav, he won’t get lost. Oh, don’t look at me like that—he is my nephew, I can lend him my car if I want to!’ Neither Vivian nor Edge remarked that she’d barely known she even had a nephew until he knocked on her door three weeks earlier, as Sylvia was already defensive. Edge asked instead where he was staying on this holiday of his and she looked slightly annoyed.

  ‘We’ve been through all this with the police, you know. Even though he was in full sight of everyone from the minute he arrived—even chatting up a police officer!—they questioned him for ages. For a suicide? It was an absolute farce. He’s crashing at another ex-pat’s flat. The Australian network, he calls it. I’d offered to arrange for him to stay in one of the guest cottages across the road, then he could take his meals here as well, since I’m sure he’s not eating properly. But he said the friend would be offended.’

  ‘If he’d tasted this cake he’d have probably let the friend be offended.’ Edge finished the last crumbs on her plate. ‘I haven’t been having croissants lately, they’re always finished before I come in for late breakfast. I’ll have to come in earlier. Or the Major will have to bake more. That was what Kirsty would call pure brilliant.’

  Donald was talking to Josie who, despite nudging eighty, seemed to have completely recovered from her shock.

  ‘Aye,’ she was telling him, two spots of colour burning in her cheeks, ‘and the first time I ever called for the Bobbies! I’m glad it was your niece, hen.’ She included Edge with a smiling nod. ‘She’s a right bonny lass, so she is.’

  ‘Simon thought so too.’ Sylvia said graciously, then lowered her voice so that Josie couldn’t hear. ‘I’m sure she’s not judging her from her old professional point of view.’

  Edge, who didn’t much like Sylvia, looked blank and pretended to be distracted by Jamie picking up his first present and shaking it, claiming everyone’s attention.

  The Lawns was a new development, less than twenty years old, but very keen on establishing traditions. A firm favourite was that one of the gifts was a purple item of clothing and he triumphantly held aloft a purple tweed flat cap, then promptly put it on to roars of laughter and camera flashes as Megan hurried up to record the event for the birthday book. She pulled a face at Edge to remind her as she passed.

  Edge sighed, but it was an easy escape from Sylvia, who was still watching her with her bright malicious eyes. She slipped quietly away and went up the stairs to the admin offices on the next floor. The previous administrator, Harriet Blake, who had died of a heart attack shortly before Christmas, would have been at the birthday tea, and for the first time she wondered what was keeping her replacement away. Katryn Pretorius was a bottle-blonde divorcee in her forties, gregarious and efficient. Hamish Kirby, the bursar and titular head of the Trust team, had confided to Edge that she was a Treasure, considering. He meant, Edge realized with an inner smile, considering she wasn’t Scottish.

  Katryn was looking flustered when Edge knocked and went into the admin office, and turned to her with relief.

  ‘Why on earth are you working on a Sunday, When-we?’ Edge greeted her and Katryn shook her head despairingly.

  ‘Ja, well, when-we yourself. At least when we were in Africa we didn’t have suicides stringing themselves up in every laundry in the country,’ she retorted, a little unfairly. ‘I was downstairs for the talk this morning, and stuck around for the party, but now we’ve had another crisis: Clarissa and that bluddy dog of hers. She’s had a stroke, by the looks of it, collapsed while out walking that bluddy animal, and I thought we’d have to shoot it so the ambulance men could get to her. Luckily the Major was out walking, he grabbed the lead and marched it snarling and lunging up to the campsite dog runs at arm’s length. Nothing wrong with his courage, I’ll say that for him. Ja, Edge, you can laugh but it wasn’t bluddy funny at the time, and not for Clarissa. She was weeping and begging them not to hurt it and saying it was all her fault the muzzle wasn’t on—total carry on. The whole health and safety thing, they could have easily refused to help at all. Anyway, I went with the ambulance to the hospital and promised her I would ask you to take care of the bluddy dog for her. So I’m asking.’

  Edge hesitated. Maggie was no Buster, fitting quietly into her life, but going back into kennels or a rescue centre could well put paid to any chance of that complex little dog ever settling. ‘How long is Clarissa likely to be in hospital?’ she asked cautiously and Katryn threw her hands up.

  ‘Geez, Edge, it’s a stroke. Not a bad one. If I’m any judge, she’ll be walking with a stick in a week or two and right as rain in six months, but you know as well as I do, they’re like heart attacks. You can go another ten years, or have three in a row. I do know the less worry she has, the more likely she is to make a full recovery. She was frantic at the thought of the bluddy dog being shot or impounded for biting someone. I’ll tell you straight, I’m quite prepared to have the dog put down and lie through my teeth to her until she’s strong enough to take the news. This isn’t a long-loved pet, it’s a bluddy liability for her the way it is now, and long-term I’d be doing her a favour, so I’m not asking you to pull any hot potatoes out of the fire for us. I don’t want the animal here, it’s nothing but bluddy trouble, but I promised to ask you.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Edge decided. ‘Put it this way, I’ll go up to the run with some treats and some food and see if she’ll come with me. Okay? Now come down to the tea, do, Jamie was unwrapping a model airplane when I left and he was as pleased as Punch!’

  ~~~

  It was a very woebegone and subdued dog that Edge found in the dog runs behind the shops. Maggie, still wearing her lead from the abortive walk, ran to the gate as she opened it and whipped out of the run to press up against her legs.

  Edge hunkered down next to her and offered a sausage roll but the dog ignored it, turning her bulging eyes up instead to search Edge’s face as though for an explanation.

  ‘You’ll stay with me until Clarissa is better.’ she responded, feeling extremely foolish, and straightening up. ‘If you’re good!’ she added hurriedly and they walked back across the campsite with Maggie trotting quietly at her heels and, even more bizarrely, barely glancing at
Odette as Donald and his whippet hurriedly stepped off the walkway at her approach.

  ‘Have you hypnotized that dog?’ Donald demanded.

  She held up crossed fingers as they hurried past. Katryn, taking her agreement for granted, had already had Maggie’s bowls, toys, jackets, blankets and bagged dog food transferred to number twelve, but Maggie declined a meal and settled heavily in the visitor dog bed, resting her chin on the padded edge to stare mournfully at Edge. However, when Donald came back after his walk twenty minutes later to find out what was going on, it was the old Maggie who sprang up, raging and ready for battle.

  ‘Shut it, dog.’ he told her sternly as he perched on a chair and she subsided suspiciously. ‘What’s the story? Is this why Katryn wanted to see you?’

  Edge explained and he nodded and sat back, stretching his legs out. Maggie flew to attack his feet, snarling, and Edge jumped up and hauled her away to the bathroom. ‘This,’ she said resignedly as she came back to her chair to a background of indignant barks, ‘is going to be a nightmare. Whatever did you do to her, kick her or something? Clarissa used to bribe her with treats when visitors arrived but to my mind that encourages her to be foul.’

  ‘I stood on her back foot, it was the only way to get her to break off her attack, with that useless Hobbes woman having hysterics. Stupid dog.’

  Edge giggled. ‘Don’t be harsh. Clarissa’s a long-time fan of yours, she was paralyzed with horror. Apparently you were quite the sex symbol in your day.’